


Dream Lover

by jer832, scifiangel



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jer832/pseuds/jer832, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifiangel/pseuds/scifiangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first time the Doctor has had sex with a human. (Whether it actually is his first time or his five thousandth time is of no matter; he would still and always know this as his first time, for this — This is making love with Rose.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Lover

**Author's Note:**

> written August 2014 for bloose09 - her OTP
> 
>  
> 
> For permission to use the manips contact scifiangel at scifiangel.livejournal.com

 

 

_Dream lover, where are you_

_With a love, oh, so true_

_And the hand that I can hold_

_To feel you near as I grow old …_

_Someday, I don't know how I hope she'll hear my plea_

_Some way, I don't know how She'll bring her love to me_

_~ from "Dream Lover" by Bobby Darin_

 

 

 

~

 

It's the first time the Doctor has had sex with a human.

(Whether it actually is his first time or his five thousandth time is of no matter; he would still and always know this as his first time, for _this_ — _This_ is _making love with Rose_.)

Rose Tyler takes his hand with a soft brush of her lips over his that makes the control room lights flutter and the cosmos stop racing away from him. He's pretty certain it's no illusion and not another dream or, worse, torture-induced delusion (he's had a few of those too.). Her clasp is more tender than he is used to when their hands entwine, her steps sure but unhurried. As they walk, her thumb caresses the back of his hand, and he throws a keen look toward the corridor walls, unable not to admire the strong sturdy smoothness mere footsteps away, and imagine...

 

     Catching him as his gaze assesses the possibilities of the cool quasi-sentient alien surfaces, Rose smiles a slyly knowing smile but shakes her head: not now, not here. She kisses him again, a tender, lingering caress that does nothing to shore up his faltering control of an id hell-bent toward adventurous impropriety in TARDIS corridors, and leads him to his room.

Kisses gentle on his mouth, otherwise insistent. He sighs and he stirs. Rose nips his lower lip.  He rubs his tongue over the spot, feeling for a mark. No, it didn't hurt, it... oh, it made him want to sing! She does it again, grinding her teeth into the fleshy center and pulling deftly, and he moans against her mouth. Her breath is sweet. His tongue steals out to taste her… to taste Rose. Her lips open and she catches his carefully probing tongue with hers.

.

    She kisses him with delicate hunger—his face, his jaw, the hollow of his throat, the left and the right and the provinces in-between of his awed lips. He pulls back and stares at her, stares as if he's sure she is only illusion after all—but if she is, it's an illusion he wants never to end. His fingers rove her face, replicating the pattern that Rose's lips just made against his. As they reach her mouth, she closes her eyes and parts her lips, and her face tells him of the _hunger_ he has given her ( _he has given_ _her!_ ). When she opens her eyes again she doesn't just look at him, she smoulders.

Rose sucks one of his fingers into her mouth, drawing on it gently. Before he can even swallow the gasp he'd barely kept from escaping, Rose sets one of her fingers up against his lips. (This is good: she has given him something to concentrate on whilst he works to contain any rebellious noises that Time Lords, he is sure, should neither need nor want nor allow themselves to make. Or, alternately, she has pushed him closer to anarchy.) He licks her finger then sucks it in with suction that replicates her mouth's suction on his. He prays that he is creating the same tightening spring of drawing, churning hunger in Rose that she has in him; from her sweet mewing responses, which serendipitously mask his, he believes he is. He grins; oh, he is clever.

Her tongue makes one final dizzying swirl around the tip of his digit.  He gives up all attempt at Time Lord propriety and moans noisily, to the vixen's obvious delight (which… _ah_ …oh, which nicely stokes his own.) She releases his finger and pulls hers out of his mouth, drawing it slowly along his tongue, scraping across the peaks of his teeth, trailing it over his bottom lip with a dragging friction that rewires his brain directly to his testicles.

Rose kisses her way down his chest and stomach. His jacket and jumper are gone; he doesn't remember losing them. Her fingertips and tongue titillate their way over his body. He knows he should be undressing her and touching her in kind; but _this is Rose_ and he is helpless to do more than watch as the beloved golden head slips lower, and lose himself in the whisper of soft curls, warm nimble fingertips, and the hot-cool fire she breaths across his naked skin.

His jeans drop away. He steps out of them with barely any thought but to hold her, to kiss her, to keep kissing her.

She touches him, a light whispering of fingers barely there—butterfly wings, hummingbird wings, a succuba's sigh — but before his body can realize and respond, Rose's fingers have returned to his lips. Still he feels…

Rose Tyler nibbles at his shoulder and he feels her smile… feels her smile skate over the mass of muscle, the bony ridges of his collar and breast, and alight with thunder and angel's wings around his nipple… feels her, naked, against him and his hearts race.

When her fingers cup him he jerks back and away, but he returns, pulled to her like pyrite to a magnet. Pulled like a man, greedy mouth, greedy hands.

Her thighs glisten; he touches her (a fleeting touch excusable, if necessary, to the non-existent confinement of the space) to assure himself that if she _is_ illusion, this illusion is his fully.

Their tongues play with each other as her nails tease, finding sensitive places on his body that are strangely ticklish, places he's certain are ticklish _like that_ only for Rose Tyler. She starts to move against him. (His body follows instinctively though somewhat awkwardly.) Rose Tyler blazes through him like a star: her core is fire; her mouth and hands, her breasts, her hips, her all of her… everywhere her skin touches his… are wellsprings of liquid fire flowing in cataracts of passion that undermine the bedrock of Time Lord willful languor. His lips and hands and chest are cool against Rose's burning skin, but volcanoes churn in his belly and groin. Passions roil through his vessels, driving single-minded desire, growing substantial. He feels himself moving against her. There is no need to keep control... _at last! ..._ he _lets_ himself move against her, and the rhythm is right, is good. 

 

Pulling him down to the bed, Rose lays them to face each other.

Her hand enfolds him, her thumb describes a swath across his head. His body jerks but now he doesn't pull back. She rubs her thumb through the beads of his desire and he makes a strange sound of pleasure and need and (because he is after all himself) curiosity. Slipping from his grasp, Rose dips to kiss his stomach, his hip; her lips follow the valley from the summit of his thigh into the triangle of soft hair. Her fingers paint his length with his desire.

As she slides back up to set her lips against his, Rose moves his hand to the cool slippery moisture between her thighs. It takes just one heartsbeat and one breath (and one moment to bring them under control) and then he continues up the inside of Rose's thigh to the source. His finger dips inside. Rose Tyler is hot and wet and tight. She writhes against him as he pushes deeper, whispering his name and words of love and desire like an oft-repeated, fairly memorized liturgy. He rolls her onto her back and moves above her, their bodies aligned but not touching.

Rose looks at him— _looks_ at him, wrapping him in her love and desire, in the truth they've shared since _run_. He wraps her in his arms and his love and his hunger, and in his thankfulness and certainty that miracles do exist after all, even for him. He rolls onto his back. The mattress sighs and gives as Rose straddles and mounts him. Rose Tyler mounts him, takes him, makes love to him.

 

 

 


End file.
